There’s something about this season of the year that always feels deeply emotional to me.
Maybe it’s because school years end and transitions begin all at once. Seniors graduate. Teachers change campuses. Coaches move districts. Ministries shift leadership. Families relocate. Friendships evolve. Children grow older right in front of us while we’re still trying to catch our breath from the last season.
Life keeps moving.
And if we’re not careful, we’ll try to move with it so quickly that we never stop long enough to acknowledge what we lost along the way.
Change is inevitable.
It happens whether we are ready or not.
As an educator, a coach’s wife, and someone who has spent years serving in ministry, I understand that truth intimately. People come. People go. Seasons shift. Assignments change. New hearts enter your life while others quietly exit.
That is the rhythm of life.
But one thing I’ve learned through both personal grief and everyday transitions is this:
You must allow yourself the grace to mourn what was familiar.
Not because you’re weak.
Not because you lack faith.
But because familiarity roots itself into the soil of our lives.
And uprooting anything — even when necessary — can hurt.
Grief Introduced Itself to Me Early
I lost my father at 21 years old.
I lost my mother at 26.
I lost my grandmother before I even graduated high school at 17.
There were also godparents, relationships, friendships, dreams, and versions of myself that quietly disappeared before I ever reached 30.
People often talk about grief like it’s a single moment. A funeral. A breakup. A goodbye.
But grief is rarely that clean.
Sometimes grief lingers quietly in ordinary places.
A song.
A holiday.
A familiar scent.
A phone call you can no longer make.
Sometimes the pain outlives the actual event itself. Long after people have moved on, long after the world expects you to “be okay,” your heart is still learning how to carry what changed.
And if I’m honest, there were seasons where I thought the grief would permanently harden me.
But somehow, God kept meeting me there.
What Change Taught Me
Change strengthened me in some ways.
It made me more discerning. More self-aware. More appreciative of genuine connection and authentic community.
But it also made me cautious.
Because once you’ve experienced enough loss, you understand how deeply attached humans become to what feels safe and familiar.
Familiar routines.
Familiar people.
Familiar places.
Familiar versions of ourselves.
And when those things shift, it can feel like part of your identity shifted with them.
That’s why I no longer judge people for struggling during transition seasons.
New beginnings sound beautiful in motivational quotes.
But in real life?
New can feel terrifying.
God Is Still Present in the Unfamiliar
One thing I know for certain is this:
God does not abandon us in transition.
Even when life feels unstable, He remains constant.
Even when doors close unexpectedly, He is still intentional.
Even when we are grieving what ended, He is already preparing what’s next.
I’ve seen Him send the right people at the right time. Open opportunities I never could have orchestrated myself. Restore joy after seasons that felt unbearably heavy.
Not always immediately.
Not always dramatically.
But faithfully.
And that faithfulness matters.
Because sometimes surviving change is less about having all the answers and more about trusting that God will guide your next steps one day at a time.
Give Yourself Permission to Grieve
So if you are entering a new season right now, I want to encourage you:
Give yourself permission to mourn what was familiar.
Grieve the friendship.
Grieve the season.
Grieve the version of yourself that existed before life changed.
You are not “stuck” because you miss what mattered to you.
You are human.
And healing does not require pretending the transition didn’t hurt.
But after you grieve, keep moving forward.
Because there is still purpose ahead of you.
There is still beauty waiting to grow from the ashes of what changed.
And sometimes the very thing that broke your heart becomes the thing that deepens your faith, sharpens your compassion, and teaches your soul how to trust God in ways comfort never could.
That kind of growth is holy work.
© 2026, Lela Fagan. All rights reserved.
